


Beat Up

by peggys



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, alcohol consumption, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 01:48:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11887344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peggys/pseuds/peggys
Summary: Reader gets catcalled and Steve gets in a fight with the guy who did it, resulting in the reader having to clean up her boyfriend.





	Beat Up

You waved over to the bartender, ordering another round of drinks for yourself and the rest of the team, bringing them over to the large table and seating yourself back down next to your boyfriend, Steve. He put an arm around your shoulder, as it had been before you’d gotten up, placing a kiss on top if your head before taking a sip from the tall glass of beer you’d set down in front of him. You brought your own glass to your lips, placing it back down onto the table before leaning into Steve’s touch, your head gently rested on his shoulder, his fingers absentmindedly tracing up and down your down. You both kept somewhat engaged in the conversation, something about who was the best fighter. It was between Bucky and Natasha, but you were almost certain Nat would win.

After only about fifteen more minutes, you yawned, taking Steve’s free hand in yours and looking up at him.

“You wanna head home?” He asked, squeezing your hand as you smiled tiredly at him, nodding your head. He turned to the team, standing up as you did. “Alright everyone, we’re gonna get home, we’re both tired, it’s been a long couple weeks.” The reason you were out in the first place was to celebrate a successful mission, which you had just gotten back from, and you were absolutely exhausted.

You were put the door, walking down the sidewalk, your hand wrapped firmly in Steve’s, when you heard a drunken man catcalling you.

“Heyyy baby,” the man paused here to hold back vomit, “what are you doin’ with a guy like that when you could be with a guy like this?” He pointed to himself with both of his thumbs. You felt Steve tense up, and you grabbed his forearm, shaking your head at him.

“Don’t. It’s not worth it.” His jaw clenched. You knew Steve couldn’t get drunk, but it was obvious he was at least buzzed, maybe tipsy. He was listening to you, keeping his head down and pulling you along as you walked to the car, when the man—who was now following you—-spoke up again.

“Hey bitch! Listen t’ me!” A bottle smashed on the ground. “Why don’t you come home with me tonight ‘stead of him. hm?” The moment Steve heard ‘bitch’ he whipped around.

“Don’t fucking talk to her like that.” Steve towered over the man, putting his hands on his chest and pushing him backwards roughly.

“Steve, please—”

“No, (Y/N), I got this.” He didn’t look at you as he spoke, he glared into the stranger’s eyes. All of a sudden, a fist connected with Steve’s jaw, and punches were thrown back and forth until noses and mouths were bloody. You didn’t want to try to pry them apart, in fear of being hit accidentally. It finally ended when Steve delivered a particularly hard right hook to the man’s temple, knocking him to the ground.

Once your boyfriend, bruised and bloody, turned back around to you, you scolded him as if he were a child. “Steve! You just knocked out a drunk guy! And look at you!” You wiped some blood off the edge of his mouth. “You’re bleeding!”

He took your hand again, leading you to the car, quickly making your way back home. You wanted to yell at him, but all you could think about was how you needed to help him clean up.

The second he’d parked the car, you dragged him upstairs, ordering him to take off his shirt, which was stained with small drops of blood that had been spat from his mouth.

“I can’t believe you just did that. Do you have any idea how irresponsible that was? That guy was drunk! He was just being stupid! You could’ve just ignored him!” You rambled as you sat him on top of the toilet seat lid, handing him cotton to put in his nose, instructions ting him to tilt his head back to stop the bleeding.

“(Y/N)…”

“Oh, no. Don’t you ’(Y/N)’ me. You’re an idiot, you know that?” You took a deep breath, stopping your movement around the bathroom and looking at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” He chuckled, moving his head back down and taking the cotton out for a second.

“No. Put that back in. Your nose hasn’t stopped yet.” You told him, getting hydrogen peroxide out of the cabinet and carefully dabbing it to the large cut next to his eyebrow.

He winced at the sting of the liquid on his open cut. “You sound like my mother.”

“Then your mother knew what she was talking about. Now put the damn cotton back in.” He did as you’d told him to, sighing and rolling his eyes. You poked him in the side causing him to squirm and laugh a little bit, returning the gesture to you.

“Wanna go get me another shirt?” He asked.

Your eyes raked over his shirtless figure before going back to his face, your main point of concern. “No, not really.”

He chuckled. “Will you?”

“I guess so.” You pushed his hair off of his forehead, placing a kiss where he hadn’t been hurt before stepping into your bedroom from the en suite bathroom, grabbing him a shirt. When you walked back in, he was no longer staring at the ceiling like he was supposed to be. “Steve Grant Rogers, what did I tell you?!” He laughed, taking his shirt from you and slipping it on before doing what he’d been told to do about a thousand times.

After a little while, you’d gotten him cleaned up, and his injuries consisted of a black eye, a busted lip, and three different good sized cuts on his face.

You’d changed into pajamas, still extremely tired out and desperate to get some sleep. He collapsed onto the bed, opening his arms for you to join him. You fell into him, wrapping your arms around him as he did the same to you, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he kissed across your collarbone, “Thanks for patching me up.”

“You’re welcome. But I’m still mad at you.”

You felt him smile against you. “Okay.” He reached over to the nightstand, pulling the cord on the lamp to turn it off.

“Goodnight.”

“Night. Love you.”

“Yeah, whatever.”


End file.
